


全て

by circus lights (dividedheart)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 06:25:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9422402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dividedheart/pseuds/circus%20lights
Summary: The suit reflects Keith's greatest hopes and fears.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I lost insp halfway through but this scenario was too good not to finish writing. 
> 
> Spoilers for season 2 of Voltron.
> 
> ###  [Tumblr](http://breedhim.tumblr.com/)

Keith falls to the ground in a heap.

 

The world is spinning when he opens his eyes, but he feels the looming presence of another person and it sets his hindbrain on fire. He can't be laying prone when the next attack is imminent—he needs to prepare himself for a fight. His entire body throbs with an ache that make his very core scream in protest, but he sits upright anyway, reaching for his dagger. Only—

 

Shiro. It’s Shiro.

 

“Hey, man. You did it.”

 

All of the fight burning in his being fades out, the wick of a candle smoking and sputtering. Keith’s relief is so visceral and intense that the pain eases for a moment, long enough for him to take the hand offered to him. Shiro helps him stand. He leans on him just briefly and leaves the blade where it sits on the floor.

 

“Kolivan told me you lasted longer than anyone else had in those battles. You don’t have to keep this up.”

 

“What… are you talking about?”

 

Something is wrong.

 

The look in Shiro’s eye is skewed. There’s something different inside of him. Keith’s first thought is—is he angry? Is he mad with him for all of this? And it makes him ache. It returns all of the hurt.

 

“Just give them the knife and let’s get out of here.”

 

“No,” Keith is shaking. He glances at the knife out of the corner of his eye and Shiro shifts toward him. “No. Shiro, you don’t get it.”

 

“What isn’t there to get?” His smile is gone. “You’re stubborn and won’t give up. Why are you so selfish? If you just give them the knife…”

 

Every word lances through his heart. Bile burns at the back of his throat. He swallows, throat working around the tingling imminence of nausea. “I won’t stop. I can’t.”

 

Both of them are very still.

 

Keith goes for the dagger and Shiro lunges at him, grabbing his wrist to yank him around. Keith is dizzy and at this point he’s so weak it’s an easy thing to do, made easier by the strength Shiro possesses. Keith cries out as his arms are forced behind his back.

 

“Don’t you want to live? Is your past more important to you than what’s in front of you right now?”

 

Shiro’s breath is warm on his neck where it falls. He smells like fire and sweat.

 

“I need to know,” He chokes out, desperation and blind yearning forcing him to speak. The truth is inches from his fingers. There’s that final door, and then maybe an answer to the question that’s been plaguing him all his life. Shiro has to understand that. It’s suddenly so important that Shiro understands that. “I have to. My past… the knife, all of this… Shiro, you’ve—“

 

He tries twisting around in his grip, to no avail. Shiro wraps something around his wrists—it's hard metal, some kind of binding—and then brings Keith closer, back to chest. He’s warm. The hand resting on the dip of his stomach is warmer.

 

“What—” he chokes, uselessly confused. “What are you…?”

 

“Keith,” Shiro is speaking low against the shell of his ear and that sends violent shivers up and down his spine. “The choice is yours. Is it me you want,” His hand slides up to his chest, resting gingerly on his throat. “Or is it that knife you want?”

 

“I can’t give it to them, Shiro.”

 

“Then you’ve made your choice.”

 

Shiro’s hand is warm, Keith thinks. It’s a distant thought in a sea of nothing. Shiro’s hand is strong. It’s strong enough to crush his throat in his grip.

 

Keith can’t breathe.

 

He thrashes against Shiro’s hold, desperately scared and so cornered, vulnerable and _alone._ Alone. Shiro is holding him, but he’s alone. He doesn’t want to be alone. The knife isn’t worth it. Shiro choking him and hating him and looking at him like he’s less than scum isn’t worth some mysticism or some kind of certainty of who he is. He can’t be nobody.

 

He wants to tell him that.

 

Shiro suddenly releases him, grip gone soft. Keith coughs and chokes on his spit and shakes like a leaf in the wind and Shiro kisses his neck like he didn’t just choke him. “Are you rethinking it?”

 

“I don’t want it,” He says, fear fueled by both the presence of the man behind him and the threat of the lack of it. “They can—take it. I don’t—if you…”

 

“Tongue tied?” There’s a murmur of a laugh under his breath. His lips are so warm on the curve of Keith’s neck. When did he pull the suit down?

 

“What are you doing,” He manages to grit out, shaking violently. He doesn’t understand what’s going on anymore. It’s like somebody decided to open his skull and shove molten cotton candy inside. Everything feels like a syrupy sweet, hazy dream. His neck is on fire, but it’s not bad as much as it’s bizarre.

 

“You want me, right? You choose me, right?” Shiro sucks and laps at his skin like he’s some kind of candy and it feels good when he knows it shouldn’t. Keith’s breath hitches in his chest, and he can’t breathe all over again. Is this really happening?

 

“Yeah, it’s happening,” Shiro murmurs against his neck and he realizes he said that aloud.

 

“Why?” The beginnings of tears cloud his vision. He doesn’t want to cry right now. He doesn’t want to feel this intimacy that he’s never felt the barest of before now.

 

“Because this is what you chose.” Shiro says, and somehow Keith knows that’s the end of it.

 

The hand still lingering near his throat slides down the tone of his body to rub at the swell of his cock and Keith gasps and flinches. “Ah! W, wait—”

 

Shiro’s mouth is working against his neck, sucking at the skin wetly. All of the blood goes to Keith’s head as he realizes what’s happening and what’s going to happen. The heat of Shiro’s hand is working his clothed dick and despite the fact that every inch of his being is screaming that _this is wrong,_ he’s hard anyways.

 

“Never done this before, hm?” Shiro teases, lightly and friendly, like it’s okay to engage in banter right now.

 

Keith thrashes again. He can’t take this. He doesn’t want this. He’s suddenly so firm in that conviction that it doesn’t matter what Shiro says or thinks about him. “Stop, _please._ Not like this.”

 

“Hey.”

 

Keith lifts his head. Shiro is as still as a statue.

 

“Look at me.”

 

He turns his head. Shiro looks anguished. It hurts so much to see.

 

“I thought you loved me.”

 

 _I do,_ he opens his mouth to say, but Shiro kisses him instead.

 

It’s nothing like he ever imagined before. It’s painful and sharp, it’s teeth and tongue; Keith doesn’t want to be kissed like this—not bound and shivering with the promise of fear coming with the promise of more. If he’d thought of kissing Shiro, it’d been laced with shameful guilt, hot and prickling in the depths of his mind, imaginations he wouldn’t bother to entertain. But it’d always been sweet. Kind, soft. He’s never kissed anyone before now, but he doesn’t think it’s supposed to be like this.

 

Keith jerks his head away eventually, choking on his own spit as he struggles to regain focus. The only thing keeping him from slumping back to the floor is the strength of the arms around him.

 

“You taste sweet,” Shiro says. “Like candy.”

 

Keith’s tears fall.

 

“Baby, don’t cry,” He sounds sympathetic. It warbles and turns into a hideous laugh. “I’m going to make you feel good. It’s what you wanted. It’s what you chose.”

 

This isn’t Shiro.

 

Everything is upside down. There’s heat boiling in his veins, bubbling just under the surface. It seems to burst to life as Shiro touches him, fingers strong where they knead the soft fat of his thighs, making his cock twitch and head swim. Keith closes his eyes against it all, whimpering faintly.

 

“So cute,” Says Shiro, flipping him around so they’re face to face. His hardness digs into the harsh jut of Shiro’s hipbone. _Don’t hold me close. Not with his voice. Not with his face._

Hands stroke up and down his back, coming to squeeze and grope his ass. Shiro buries his face in his shoulder and latches on to the soft skin there, bringing bruises to the surface in the form of bites and cruel kisses. Keith can’t help in the small, broken noises coming from the depth of his chest; it feels good. It doesn’t make sense how good it feels.

It’s like he’s drunk. There’s no other explanation for the way his head throbs, the way his body reacts—like there’s a thin membrane wrapped around his world, blanketing him to all sensations other than _touch_ and _feel_ and perhaps _pleasure._ It had overtaken him slowly, but it had happened all the same.

Eventually, Shiro grows bored with groping and kissing and makes quick work of his clothing. Keith is standing naked in what feels like seconds, jostled from side to side in his arms like a doll, limply swaying. He can’t fight like this—not half naked, suit split down the middle, baring his vulnerable softness to the hard fist of the man before him. His cock juts from his belly and he blushes with a furiosity that the situation otherwise wouldn’t merit.

 

Shiro is looking at him, openly appreciative _._ His eyes are gleaming with unconcealed lust and an intensity to something else that Keith can’t name.

 

He doesn’t want to be looked at like he’s a slab of meat to be appraised. He hides his face in his shoulder, hair shielding his face.

 

“Baby,” Shiro says, tone sickly sweet and dripping with venom. “Look at me.”

 

“No,” he gasps, swallowing around the threat of sickness. He’s going to throw up. “Don’t do this.”

 

Shiro is already holding him up, so it’s easy for him to slip his arm under Keith’s trembling legs to shift him into his arms to carry him bridal style. Keith doesn’t know where he’s taking him; he focuses on the ceiling and on his breathing, watching as the purple fluorescent lights shift and warp above him, a melting pot created by both his headache and the tears blurring his vision.

 

There’s a bed. Shiro lays him down on it and kisses his brow, cupping his cheek with a metal hand. The warning is well disguised, but even in his hazy, drunken stupor, Keith understands. His bound hands ache with the pressure of his own weight, and his shoulders scream in protest when he rolls on his side, trying to ease the discomfort by even a little. Shiro murmurs something under his breath.

 

“Want me to take them off?”

 

Keith nods hastily.

 

“Will you behave?”

 

“Yes,” Keith breathes.

 

“Okay. Be a good boy.”

 

Shiro is none too gentle in withdrawing the bindings. Keith is slow to bring his arms back around his front, shoulders feeling like they’re on pins and needles, sharp and stinging. He isn’t given any time to adjust.

 

“Raise your arms above your head,” Shiro commands, sounding all the leader that he is. Keith is too slow to obey; Shiro grabs his wrists and yanks his arms up, making him yelp in pain. “Perfect.”

 

Keith’s chest rises and falls in a panicked, pained rhythm as Shiro leans back to observe.

 

“You’re gorgeous. Look at you… blushing so prettily,” Shiro grabs his jaw and turns his head side to side, looming above with a smile that glints sharper than any luxite dagger could, hints of danger carrying far more weight. “Perfect.”

 

Shiro slides his hand down his front, grabbing his dick by its base. The room is quiet, the slick, wet sounds as Shiro pumps his cock the only sounds. Keith hides his face in his shoulder and sucks in wheezy, hurt breaths, biting his lower lip to mask any noises that threaten to spill forth.

 

Shiro stops.

 

Keith looks up at him, blinking dumbly.

 

“You just have to make this difficult, don’t you?”

 

He isn’t given a chance to question that before he’s flipped onto his stomach and then dragged back by his hair to lean against Shiro’s chest. He cries out weakly, but the pain is brief.

 

“This is better,” Shiro murmurs, rocking his hips into the plush of Keith’s ass. “Mm, god. You feel good. I can’t wait to fuck you.”

 

Keith’s heart jumps in his chest.

 

“No.”

 

“What was that?”

 

“No,” He says, louder this time. “No! Don’t _do_ this—!”

 

“You _wanted this!_ ” Shiro roars, yanking Keith’s suit, tearing the fabric asunder. His anger comes fierce and fast, sending numb thrills of fear up Keith’s spine. His hindbrain wails and kicks, telling him to struggle against what’s about to happen, but he can’t. Shiro spits into his palm and grabs Keith, pumping his soft cock into hardness. Keith writhes, but there’s nowhere for him to go; shifting back has him pressing against Shiro’s mast.

 

“Stop!” Humiliation dulls the edge of his voice, makes it crack with wet, shuddering sobs. He can’t bring Shiro back down from whatever madness has gripped him. He realizes that. But Keith has never been one to lay back and accept what others would see as inevitable. This can’t happen.

They won’t be able to go back from it, after all.

 

“Keith,” In the midst of his panic, Keith hadn’t heard him calling his name. “Hey. Listen to me.”

 

Keith freezes. Shiro taps the tip of his cock, making him jerk back.

 

“Relax.”

 

He kisses his jaw.

 

“I love you.”

 

And somehow, something splinters and breaks.

 

Keith doesn’t say anything as Shiro strokes his cock, muffling his pitiful whines with a palm. He isn’t even allowed that; he has the hand pulled away, the voice in his ear commanding him to be loud, and not to stifle his own voice.

 

It’s not hard to get him to orgasm. The feeling of another person’s hand on him is intense, even if he doesn’t want it like this. He shoots off across his stomach, back arching as he whimpers weakly.

 

“So sweet, Keith. Look at you. You’re so adorable. Do you know how long I’ve wanted to be with you?”

 

“Nngh,” Keith hiccups, miserably wiping away his tears. Shame is choking him up, making his face burn. Shiro shreds the rest of Keith’s suit off, tearing it off like it’s tissue paper and not thick armor.

 

Something prods at his backside.

 

“N-no,” He chokes, grabbing onto Shiro’s arm where it’s wrapped around his middle. He digs his fingers into the fabric, clawing at it wildly as he tries to turn around. “ _Stop—”_

 

Shiro shoves him forward, onto his stomach. Away from him, like he’s disgusted. “Are you an animal? Behave.” Thick fingers wrap around his calves, squeezing bruises into the already damaged muscle. He flips Keith onto his back easily, jerking his legs up above his body. Spreading him open. Baring him. His eyes are sharp and calculating as he takes in the lines of Keith’s body, admiring his soft stomach, his pink cock, the splash of white against his chest. But he doesn’t look at Keith’s face.

 

Keith covers his mouth, muffling his hiccuped sobs.

 

“Pretty,” He coos, praise coming out strange and garbled. He doesn’t even sound like Shiro. “But you should just listen to me and do as I say. If you relax, this’ll be a lot better for you.”

 

Shiro slides his fingers through the cum on Keith’s front and rubs at his twitching hole, prodding him steadily. His finger slips in with the lube. The intrusion feels alien—it’s not as painful as he’d been lead to believe, but it feels strange. Keith arches his back and tries to squirm away, but it just makes Shiro laugh as he works his fingers inside of him, feeling out every inch of him.

 

One finger becomes two. Two becomes three. Shiro works his ass into a compliant relaxation, even when Keith is crying pitifully in weak protest. When he thinks that Shiro is due to lose his patience, he only continues. It seems to go on forever—the not quite pain, not quite pleasure. And then Shiro brushes up against something inside of him that makes him cry out.

 

Shiro breathes out a wistful sigh, almost relieved. “See?”

 

The fingers curled loosely inside of him stroke that spot in a cruel attempt to incense—and it _works_. It’s like his body is melting. His softened cock perks up as Shiro drags the blunt pads of his fingertips in a repetitive pattern of back and forth, sending his already hazy mind into a tailspin. Drool leaks from his open mouth as he whines helplessly.

 

It feels _so good._ Why did he ever try to reject this?

 

Shiro withdraws eventually. Even he has his limits. He prods at Keith’s twitching hole with something else. Something bigger.

 

“Wait—“

 

He pushes in without any preamble.

 

Shooting tendrils of pain lance through Keith’s pleasure, flattening it into pain. Shiro doesn’t give him time to adjust, patience thrown out of the window. He just shallowly fucks him, burying his face into Keith’s neck. The praise murmured against his skin is static nothingness, muted and distant.

 

“Shh,” Shiro hums, stilling to hush Keith’s babbled pleading with a kiss. “Remember what I said?”

 

“Don’t do this! I don’t want this—“

 

He sighs. “You’re so stubborn.” He jerks his hips, bottoming out with a groan. Keith wails, scrabbling against Shiro’s shoulders. “I wish you would have just been good. This should have turned out differently.”

 

Shiro sits up, adjusting Keith’s limbs like a doll's. Legs over his broad shoulders. Hands above his head. He grabs onto his slim hips and begins to fuck him, pace brutal, excoriating. Keith can’t hear anything above the slap of skin against skin, sobbing going nowhere.

 

He can’t look into the eyes of the man he loves as he tears him asunder so he just doesn’t—he twists his head and shoves an arm over his face, refusing to look at him, even when he grabs Keith’s cock again, jerking him off with a steel fist. The waves of pleasure that wash over his pain and lather him up into arousal are entirely unwelcome, but they come all the same.

 

“That’s it,” Shiro huffs from the effort, laughing. “Come on, baby.”

 

He manages to make it good when it shouldn’t be, slamming against Keith’s prostate with a cruel precision. For every panted breath that Keith heaves, every whine, every hitched cry, Shiro’s cock throbs inside of him. He can feel it all. It’s all too much. Keith has never felt so much in his entire life—like his nerves have been flayed open and scalded, it stings, throbs, _burns._

 

He sucks air in needily, lungs filling up only to empty in desperate cries, wailing as he’s fucked open. He scrabbles for purchase against the sheets behind him, seeking some sort of comfort in the sea of sickly, bittersweet pleasure that assaults him.

 

It winds him up into a white out that washes every thought from his head, gets his toes curling, nails digging into his palms, head thrown back as he gasps. Shiro fucks him through his orgasm, coming deep inside of him with a groan.

 

It’s over.

 

Shiro slumps over him. For a long moment, all they do is breathe each other in, both exhausted. It smells like musk, like sweat and sex. Keith crinkles his nose in distaste and Shiro notices with a chuckle, pushing aside the damp bangs clinging to his forehead to kiss his brow.

 

“You were so good.”

 

Keith looks away.

 

“You hate me now, don’t you?”

 

He doesn’t answer that. He can’t think of anything he could say anymore.

 

Shiro withdraws without another word, standing from the bed. Keith places a palm over his eyes, wishing for so many things. He can’t have any of them. He wishes what had just happened hadn’t. He wishes his body didn’t ache as though buffeted by a storm. He wishes he knew about his past, but at the same time he realizes he doesn’t need to know because there’s family waiting for them to return. He wishes he could forgive and forget. He wishes he could open his eyes and have it all be a nightmare.

 

This isn’t the end of things, as much as he wishes it were.

 

He sits up to say something—anything—and Shiro is gone.

 

“Shiro?”

 

He stands on wobbling legs and collapses, unable to hold himself up. He crawls around the bed to look for him, and he’s nowhere in sight.

 

“Where are you?”

 

Only—at the end of the room. The door opens. Dressed in full paladin armor. That’s Shiro. That’s Shiro—screaming out his name, running toward him. Keith doesn’t understand but then he _does._

 

“Keith!”

 

Anguish doesn’t begin to explain the flood of emotions that hit him. Relief. Is he relieved? Is he relieved that wasn’t real?

 

Shiro’s never looked at him like that before. Like he’s something precious.

 

Keith slumps over weakly, glowing dagger in hand.


End file.
